


To Be Home

by stevierosebudds (vulcantastic)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, soft family moment, we love the brewers in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcantastic/pseuds/stevierosebudds
Summary: A quiet moment in front of the television at the Brewers'.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 15
Kudos: 200





	To Be Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request I got on Twitter via curiouscat: "Clint and Marcy with the boys post-Season 6." I tweaked it ever so slightly and posted it here. Enjoy! You can find me on twitter @stevierosebudds.

It takes an inordinate amount of time for David to realize that Patrick is asleep on his shoulder. _Far_ too long considering an old grainy baseball game is playing on Clint’s flatscreen, and David has been subjected to it for over an hour on the Brewers’ living room couch.

But out of his peripheral vision he catches a glimpse at Clint in his nearby chair, looking at his son fondly. And David cranes his neck a little and, yep, there's his husband totally knocked out on his shoulder, lips parted a little, breathing steady.

“Um, well, this is weird.” David lets out this awkward little half-laugh and thinks, _Why am I like this, can I be normal for two seconds_. “Usually baseball puts _me_ to sleep.”

Clint waves a hand, chuckling a bit. “He and I have watched this one at _least_ a hundred times. Turn on any Jays game from ’92 and it’s like a bedtime story—In fact I’m pretty sure we _did_ use some of these to get him to sleep when he was six.”

David smiles and looks down at his lap, fist tightly closed on his thigh because he doesn’t know what to do with his fucking hands when they have nothing to occupy them. (Luckily his other arm is draped loosely around Patrick.) He wishes he wasn’t so uncomfortable, even now, almost a year into their marriage. He just wants the Brewers to _like_ him, which of course they do, and Patrick has told him so a million times, and _they’ve_ told him so a million times, even without words, just in the way Marcy places a gentle hand on his back or Clint pulls him into a firm hug.

But David knows Patrick is a family-oriented man; it’s one of his defining characteristics, and David can’t help but worry nearly constantly that he’s depriving his husband of quality time with Clint and Marcy as they continue to build their life all the way back in Schitt’s Creek.

Marcy comes back into the room then, having been preparing iced tea for the four of them. She places the tray on the coffee table and smiles, reaching over to card her fingers through Patrick’s hair a little. “I knew he’d be worn out from driving all this way.”

“Mm.” David nods a little, kind of really wanting the iced tea but afraid to lean over to get it because Patrick is just very cute right now, and also, yeah, he _had_ driven all the way here because it was too early in the morning for David to function when they’d gotten on the road and David promised to drive them back. He looks cute and relaxed and … at home.

So that’s what he says. “I think—I think he’s really happy to be home.”

“I’m glad.” Marcy hands off a glass to Clint before blessedly picking up a second to pass to David. “But he’s made his own home now, too.” And then she looks at him with very soft eyes that look a lot like Patrick’s when he’s about to say something really sentimental. “With you. And that means more to us than you know.”

She puts a hand over his clenched fist, tapping his knuckles gently a couple of times before taking her seat in the chair opposite Clint.

David can feel that he is violently blushing at this point, though the tension in his body is markedly decreasing.

He looks over at Clint, who doesn’t do open displays of emotions very well either, and he’s just sort of clearing his throat and nodding in emphatic agreement with his wife’s sentiment.

As if on cue, Patrick suddenly jolts awake as if several earthquakes in a row have just occurred. “W’happened?”

“Nothing.” David bites down his amusement at the sheer sleepy disorientation on Patrick’s face. He kisses the top of his head. “It’s okay. I got you.” And again. And because he can't help himself, because the urge to be overly sentimental always seems to win out when Patrick is concerned, “I love you.”

Patrick looks up at him, blinking slowly, and David decides this is around the four thousandth time that he’s fallen in love with him. “Love you,” he murmurs, and then, turning his attention to the screen, sits up sharply and yelps: “ _Dad_! You should’ve woken me up. Rewind back to the end of the fourth inning!”

Clint snorts, picking up the remote. “Geez, kiddo. Sometimes it’s like you never left.”

“Well.” Patrick shrugs, looking at David again, gaze unwavering. “I’m glad I did. Sometimes you have to leave a place a little broken so you can come back whole.”

And then he takes the hand on David’s lap and gives it a tight squeeze, and David drops his head against the couch so he’s staring at the ceiling. “You will _not_ make me cry in the middle of a baseball re-run.”

“Oh my god. ' _Re-run_.’ Where do I even begin with you—”

But David cuts him off with a kiss, and the taste of Patrick's mouth is sweet like the remnants of tea on David's tongue, and the game plays on.


End file.
